Kim Moonlight is Dead
by Moon Jaguar
Summary: Animeverse, set after "The Desperate Desert Race". Kim Jugger is shot and the Go Team learn he's not quite who they thought he was.
1. No Time

**What: **A sort of continuation of _Desperate Desert Race._

**Disc Lamers**: Yeah, I know, Kim's not wearing what he wore in _The Desperate Desert Race. _I had to get him out of that stupid helmet and that cataract-inducing yellow driving suit somehow! This kind of sprung from a (now-dead) slash story as a sidethought and motored on as a 4:00am kind of writing. I don't know if I like or hate when my brain does that because sometimes the results are incoherent! Oh well, I can go back and fix it, right? Sadly I do not own Speed and everyone, I just torture them and send them back the way they were. Gipsy is owned by whoever owns the rights to Austin Motors (the early brochure really says that about the radio). Original characters are mine. This is a work of fiction, the author is receiving no remuneration. The author is no descendant of the Mayan king Moon Jaguar nor is she a pearl XKE pulling up on your right. She does want to get ahold of raw manga and raw anime just because.

There's the usual Speed Racer type violence but more. Profanity. Child abuse. Clinical and colloquial description of body parts, very brief partial nudity, a pairing that kind of snuck up on me. A rather strange engine drop... possible? Probable? Kim possible? Ow. I stop now.

**Feedback? **I'll take it all. Good, bad, flames, one-liners, concrit, throw it at me! (Seriously, you're not picking on this gimp points to self if you do. I really like if someone points out a mistake in punctuation, grammar, flow or correction on non-Englishness. It helps. Though here whatever patois Kim speaks probably bears little resemblance to any real-world Arabic dialects).

**Yeah, it's old: **This fic has been lingering on an old hard drive which was last accessed in Feburary '05. Much thanks to Debian Etch and Ubuntu Gutsy for assistance in their help in finding this time-capsule of files, copying them and wiping the old drive clean.

* * *

**Part I: No Time**

He'd meant to drive to the hotel and see the Go Team one last time. Kim had grown rather fond of Speed and Trixie. Spritle was a trial but observant, quick and resourceful-- Kim hoped he'd never lose that. Things were more and more dangerous in the Flathill country. It was either take up arms or flee and he knew what his choice would be. Kim wanted peace and here, he was not sure who to trust, he didn't know what was really going on no matter what he was told. Too many people quick-changed, double-crossed. Going as far as to sabotage his Black Tiger to force him to give up racing? Why the subterfuge? No one dealt with him directly. Was he so dangerous? The original plan after the Desert Race was to ship the Black Tiger, some of his belongings and himself to the States. No longer, not since everything had gone awry. No time to think of what happened, no time to even give his own father any thought.

Time to leave. Abdul Noble, when he came by to check to see how he was, had said, "Do whatever you feel best, Kim," before riding away on his camel. His remaining household staff had rode along on the remaining horses that Kim's father's family had once bred and exported for many generations. He'd been living out of a suitcase for some time. The yellow helmet with the star and lightning bolt device that he often wore over a red _khaffiyah_ was now in the trunk with his matching driving suit. He remembered some of the giggling this elicited but cared little of it. He had the reputation of being a loose cannon, arrogant, "the wildest racer in the world", why not add eccentric and a fashion disaster to it? A few keepsakes were in the trunk as well, trophies, plaques, photographs, a tattered scrap of a baby blanket. There was nothing else in the house he cared to keep. He had traded or sold most anything of value over time in Sandoland. If he had more time he'd offload the rugs, cushions, draperies and most of his clothing to the merchants in the bazaars for a small sum, to be resold at quite a profit. If he needed anything else when he left, he could buy it.

Today he was blandly dressed in a loose-sleeved tan British-style button-down shirt tucked into fading brown boot-cut jeans, finished with off-black suede boots of semi-Beatle shape which laced up the sides over interior gussets. He looked around him, tossing the ends of his white khaffiyah over his shoulders, around his neck and knotting them around the way. All was clear, no one was around. He dragged the trunk out of the house, glad he had the foresight to keep it near the door. With a grunt he heaved it into the back of the battered, sand-colored, bullet-scarred Gipsy, which had transported everything from food to explosives over the years. _No time, no time_, chanted in his head in time with his panting breaths as he sprinted inside for his suitcase and a canvas duffel. He glanced at the woven saddle bags hanging on the walls, one set for a camel and the others for his mare. He hated not to take those though he'd never owned a camel and Naama had long grown old and died.

"Leave them," he muttered to himself, tossing what he had in the back of the boxy truck and slamming the gate shut. He secured the door to the house with a padlock and chain, climbed into the Gipsy's cab and reached into the pocket of his jeans for his car keys...keys..._keys_! No time to curse or pound his fist on the wheel. He retraced his steps, scanning the sand to see if he'd dropped them. _No... damn_! He drew the Colt from his waistband, shattered the window with its stock, cleared away the glass from the frame and climbed inside, cringing and grimacing at the chips and shards. A glint of brass on a hook nearest the door caught his eye. He quickly snatched the keys, stuffed the gun back in his jeans and dropped lightly from the window frame.

Kim stopped short and flattened against the wall. Some men, muttering in a mix of Flathills Arabic, Sandoli Farsi, jumbled English, and half-assed French. _One or the other!_ he groaned inwardly, his relief at finding the keys sidetracking him. The wind lifted a gold khaffiyah into view and its owner leaned back --one of Ali bin Schemer's henchmen, who sported an angry red and black powder burn over one side of his face. Kim sprang for the truck, a hoarse shout of "Get him!" following him. He charged the man blocking the truck's open door and shoved him aside, throwing in a kick for good measure. He climbed in, praying no one else lay hidden in the truck. Bullets pinged off the top like hail as the Gipsy lurched into life, leaving a cloud of sand behind it, Kim struggling to both pull the door shut and find his gun.

The gun was gone, lost in the struggle. _Forget it. Go_. At least no one was in here with him. He looked in the side mirrors and saw a new black Land Rover far behind him. They could catch up but this old crate still had some life left, providing it didn't overheat out in middle of the desert somewhere. As long as he got to the city he would be safe. If only his right arm and shoulder would quit with this cursed burning. He downshifted at a higher RPM, spinning the tires. Hidden in the cloud of dust and sand, the Gipsy angled behind an ancient wall and bumped along a long-closed path, a shortcut to a shorter road to Puba. Kim had a head start, he was by far the most skilled driver but they wouldn't stay lost for long. He donned a pair of wire-rimmed shades, took a quick drink from his canteen, capped it one-handed and set it back down. Mirror check. They hadn't caught up to him yet.

Kim grew slightly light-headed and berated himself for it. _You've raced on hotter days than this when you were with the Shock Team!_ Not a soul on the road. He slowed down and rolled down the window. The stuffy air in the cab freshened (and became sandy) and he felt somewhat better. Thanks to a random short, the radio kicked on without warning and the speakers staticked. The Gipsy's brochure, yellowing in one of its equipment boxes, crowed within its closed pages: "For the long-distance driver, what better than a radio to relieve the monotony of the journey!" Kim turned the knob, nudging the needle on the dial back and forth until Radiyo Mondo tuned in more clearly. Grace Slick spookily implored him to go ask Alice when the chessmen start talking to him because that mushroom made his mind move low and he damn well better remember what the dormouse said. Speed and his square crowd likely heard that song a lot, it was everywhere, but Kim doubted they made any connections unless someone sat them down and spelled it out.

His right arm grew weaker and... sticky? He looked. Blood. "Shit!" He'd been shot. Not much further, not much... government troopers waved to him from their Rover in the opposite lane. He waved back, hoping the blood didn't show. No time, no time to pull over, if they pulled him over he'd keep right on going. He partly untied his khaffiyah and ripped off a strip. Clumsily he bandaged his arm, nudging the wheel to keep the truck on the road. Gladys Knight berated him for not telling her himself that he loved somebody else, that she had to hear it through the grapevine and she was just about to lose her mind, yes she was. That or beat the living daylights out of him.

Turn up the volume, another swig of water. Maybe if he sang along with the Pips it'd keep him awake.

_... hurry, Kim Tarik! Go tell your father! There's no time!_

_Mother?_

_There's no time! Go!_

_...no time_. Car horns jerked him back to the present. With a gasp he moved along. The radio staticked out when the Beatles announced they were Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band... or was it Frank and the Mothers singing about vegetables? No way, only those freaky free pirate stations in the states or broadcasting from a barge somewhere play that Zappa cat. _A Beatle isn't a vegetable. A pepper is a vegetable_. He took off his sunglasses and turned off the radio, the noise in his ears way too loud. He waved off the parking valets at the garage entrance. He didn't trust them with a handcart, let alone the Gipsy. The Mopar slant six he'd dropped in there several years ago when the standard issue four-banger blew lugged until he remembered to downshift. Stupid. He lurched into a spot and nearly fell out of the truck upon opening the door. He sat on the running board, cloaking his arm with his khaffiyah, drinking the rest of the water in his canteen. Once he got his bearings, he locked up the truck and walked into the hotel through a service entrance. The air-conditioned cool revived him a little but the decorative mirrors along the wall reflected him sickly grayish yellow, his lips nearly white. He knew what suite the Go Team was in, the number... never mind. It was on the floor with that courtyard with the fountain that looked like a bundle of giant squash seeds were bunched up and stuck in the middle.

Speed, Trixie, Sparky and Spritle sat around the table playing a four-handed game of crazy eights. "Clubs," called Sparky.

"Room service!" Spritle cheered at the knock on the door.

Kim Jugger, bloodied, mumbled "no time" before his eyes rolled back and he swayed into the room, caught by Speed and Sparky before crashing to the floor.


	2. I Said No

**Part II: I Said No!**

See Part I for disclaimers.

* * *

The pain jarred Kim awake and he groaned. Sparky, Trixie and the Racer boys buzzed around him, all talking at once. Chim-Chim chattered and bounced in one spot, adding to the commotion.

"Put him on my bed!"

"No, the chair!"

"The bed!"

"Get a blanket! What if he goes into shock?"

"Spritle! Put Chim-Chim in one of the rooms and close the door!"

"Which one, Trixie?"

"Whichever one Kim's not in!"

"He's not in a room yet!"

"I'll call the hotel doctor-- wait, he's blacking out, get some water!"

"He needs an ambulance! How do you call an ambulance in this country?"

"Which room?"

"Just-- just watch him, Spritle, keep him out of the way!"

Speed and Sparky half-dragged Kim to a bed and rolled him onto it despite his protests that he was going to get blood on the bedspread. "We'll forward the cleaning charges to you," Sparky quipped.

Kim managed a weak smile. "Remind me to kick your arse later," he half-whispered. Anything to lighten things up around here, for Trixie looked like someone was dying and Speed looked grim.

Spritle giggled. "Kim said--"

Speed cut him off. "Never mind what Kim said. Go get some towels out of the bathroom."

"But it's British and he's not!" Spritle pointed out.

"Never mind! Go and close the door behind you!"

Kim watched Spritle dash off with Chim-Chim. "Spritle knows what an arse is and likely knows his own from his elbow, unlike _someone_ whose name I'll kindly not mention." He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Perhaps my English is not as good as I believe it to be so maybe I misunderstand you. Tell me, how is your brother to fetch the towels if he closes the door behind him as you instructed... Speed?" He struggled to sit up. Sparky, snickering at Kim's left, offered him a lean and helped pull him up.

Kim waited for his head to stop wobbling and wished that thump-thump noise at the door, which echoed in his head, would stop. He also wished Speed would quit staring at him as if he just told him Miss Gladys ripped him a dual exhaust thanks to the rumor mill, baby baby and logic and proportion have fallen, yes, we'll all be dead soon. Or logic was somewhere on the thirteenth floor elevator with Roky Erickson, you're gonna miss me baby when I'm gone. _Keep staring, Racer, and you'll get yet another one of last year's songs out of me...a psychotic reaction_.

--

_Go! Tell him Kim Najma is dead!_

_But Mother..._

_Get dressed, Tarik! Ride, tell the general she's gone..._

--

Sparky rounded up Spritle and Chim-Chim and let the room service man in, leaving Kim to Trixie and Speed. Spritle had forgotten about the towels at the sight of food just as quickly as he'd forgotten about the card game at Kim's knock on the door. If the waiter saw some of the dried blood that had rubbed off on Sparky's T-shirt, he didn't let on. Sparky settled the bill, tipped the man and saw to it Spritle and Chim-Chim had their suppers in front of them. Not sure when or if Trixie and Speed were going to eat, Sparky gathered the cards and put them back in their boxes. "I'll be back, buddy. I'm gonna see if Kim needs anything."

"What happened to Kim?" Spritle wanted to know, his eyes wide with concern. "Is he gonna be all right?"

"He got shot, we're not sure how bad he is but we're gonna try and get someone to look at him."

--

"No." Kim's long, tilted blue eyes flashed stubborn and he squared his jaw.

"Come on, Kim. You can't just take off bleeding, with a bullet in you if there is one," Speed insisted. "We'll get a doctor in here to check on you. Don't worry about the expense."

"You think I'm broke, Racer? Think I need-- no. I.." his voice began to fade, "... Gipsy. No time..." _Click bang, what a hang, your daddy just shot poor me._ Kim started giggling weakly, wondering why his brain had to feed him his favorite off the newest Hendrix platter that had been played on Radiyo Mondo but was not yet available locally in any record shops. At least he didn't have an indecisive lover who'd agreed to elope change her mind. _Would anybody write a song about getting shot after locking your keys in the house?_.

Trixie's voice cut through the fog. "Gypsy? No time? What are you talking about? Kim, you made it here. I don't think you're going to die on us anytime soon. Let's get a doctor in here to look at your wound."

Kim surfaced and snarled, "No doctor!"

Sparky inquired patiently, "Kim, did you drive yourself here?"

"That's what I bloody said, didn't I? In... the Gipsy."

"That's what I wanted to know. Got any luggage in there? Toss me the keys and I'll get it."

Kim weakly handed Sparky the keys. "Level Two, I think it's 2A."

Speed took advantage of the distraction to cut away the strip of cotton Kim had wrapped around the wound with the scissors from the first-aid kit. The blood there and on his shirt sleeve was dried. A hole opened up on the upper shirt sleeve and blood seemed to have seeped and dried everywhere. Out of the corner of his eye Speed saw Sparky turning on his heel and slouching out, closing the door behind him. Spritle's raspy voice and Chim-Chim's chatter trailed Sparky through the suite. Apparently they decided to accompany Sparky on what sounded to Speed like a long search. _Long enough to get them out of our hair for awhile...huh?_ It dawned on him that the flying A device on the key ring was very familiar and he mentally kicked himself for not seeing that. That would narrow it down to _how_ many Austins of varying models Speed had spied in the Imperial's parking decks and garage alone? He hoped Kim remembered which level correctly. _Now why hadn't he said what _make and model _instead of his car's name? Leave it to Kim to be a pain in the..._ Speed rested his hand on Kim's knee briefly. "I'll have to cut away your shirt and take a look. The blood's making the sleeve stick. If it's only a graze, we can take care of it here."

"I said no," Kim's voice had gone low and threatening. "Do not go against my wishes, Speed. I will attend the wound myself and change into fresh clothes-- _in private!_"

"But you're weak, you can barely sit up, and-- and who knows how much blood you've lost. Let us help you. This shirt's pretty well had it." He started cutting the shirt sleeve along its seam. In an instant Kim twisted and leaned suddenly towards him, shot out a knee and a fist and sent Speed sprawling backwards onto the carpet. Speed picked himself up slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Kim, making certain he stayed out of striking range.

"You never listen, do you? Do I have to teach you what 'no' means?" Kim scowled murderously but his voice and body shook with pain and blood ran down his arm. The sleeve and part of the shirt had ripped in Speed's hand when he fell, revealing a brace around his upper torso in the sickly beige often called "flesh", which bore no resemblance to human skin tones. A number of drivers had bad backs, sprained ribs or spinal curvatures that they eased or supported with various braces, vests or semi-corset devices and Speed thought nothing of it. Kim quickly covered this with his ghutra.

Speed kicked his own feet back underneath him and stood up, dusting off his white pants. "What's the sweat? I was just going to take off your shirt and you act like I was trying to slit your throat! If you want I can make Trixie leave the room. Just.. let me get you cleaned up a little and take a look. You've been shot, you're bleeding again, you're weak and frankly you look like hell. We're your friends, Kim--"

"Are you?" Kim snarled coldly.

"Just... let me take a look, Kim."

Trixie, who had stood silently all this time, watching this exchange explode and grind into a stalemate, laid a hand on Speed's arm. Firmly and calmly, she commanded, "Speed, stop. Kim didn't give you permission to do this. He might not feel comfortable being undressed by other people."

"But Trixie, he's been shot! I rarely knew who anyone who took my clothes off after a crash but--"

Trixie cut him off with a cough. "This isn't America, Speed! He may object because of _religious_ or _personal_ reasons. I probably shouldn't even be in here since I'm not Kim's wife or mother."

Speed stopped short and looked lost. Kim sighed. _Thank you, Trixie_. He could've kissed her for throwing that dodge. _Let Speed chew on that one for awhile_. Or at least until the phone rang. Trixie picked it up. "Hello? Who is this?" she demanded of the voice crackling on the other end. "This is.. yes.. all right, I'll put him on." Trixie held the receiver out to Kim. "It's for you."

"Yeah?" Kim sneered into the phone, wondering if some obnoxious fan or nosy reporter had tracked him down. His eyes widened and he went pale. "_Laa...laa.._" Trixie and Speed looked at each other in alarm, hoping they didn't just throw Kim to the wolves. Sparky cracked open the door and pulled in the luggage cart, Spritle tagging alongside, Chim-Chim happily riding atop the trunk and the duffel, back propped against the suitcase. A squeaking cart wheel and street sounds seemed far too loud over Kim's accelerating (and angry) flow of Arabic and the muffled attempts of the party on the other end to get a word in edgewise. A crackling monosyllable squawk shut Kim up and he sat and listened, turning his head away from the transfixed group staring too hard at him, his torn, blood-stained ghutra a barrier against intrusion. Speed whispered to Spritle to remove Chim-Chim before he got too curious and began rifling Kim's baggage, then he and Sparky set to unloading the cart.

Trixie fixed her eyes on the ropelike twist pattern of the black aghal which held Kim's khaffiyah in place and wondered if the gold thread in the knots on the tail ends had any significance, such as rank, or if they were decorative. Kim sure seemed to like yellow and red, or black and gold. His driving suit with its red trim was blinding, as were the red-trimmed yellow silks he wore to the race as well as when he appeared with some makeshift form of ceremony on the steps of the ruins that served as part of the encampment of Ali Gallant's and Ali bin Schemer's army. That was all like being caught a silent movie whose props were deadly and the sound was on, or in some faded movie star's caught-in-the-past trap. _I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. de Mille. Or was it Mr. Griffith? Mr. Lean, maybe?_ Was Kim's family a bit cracked and living in an old Mummy's Curse-type movie set crossed with exteriors from _Lawrence of Arabia_? Or were they old-fashioned, trying to hang onto a way of life which encroaching modernization and Westernization threatened with extinction? The Black Tiger was the only motor vehicle she had seen at the fortress and even bin Schemer's arsenal was not the most modern, just realizing he had driven here in the "Gypsy", whatever that was, surprised her. Did Kim have another racing car?

Kim turned, his face in profile, and replaced the receiver on its cradle. "_That_ was General Abdul Noble. He, he is on his way here to check on me. Damn." His voice rose in panic. "Some soldiers I passed on the way in saw me and let him know they thought they saw blood on my arm. I should not have waved! I should not have had the window open! I should not have had the radio on--"

Speed cut him off. "Kim, quit it. You're bleeding again. Let me at least--"

"Always eager to help, aren't you, Racer," Kim attempted to growl but it came out more of a whimper. "Doesn't it sicken you, hearing your own voice? So helpful, so earnest, so eager, as you drop everything to rush to some poor sap's--" A wave of pain cut through him and he twisted, collapsing face down on the bed with a groan.

Speed and Trixie went to Kim's side and Kim gasped something in a multilingual scramble, the only word either could make out was "Trixie". Trixie took Kim's hand in hers and gently said, "Kim, slow down, speak English, what's wrong?"

Kim squeezed his eyes shut, turned his head and whispered harshly, "Trixie may tend me until _that one_ arrives. Only Trixie."

Trixie's eyes widened in confusion. "Kim?"

Speed scowled, wondering just what Jugger had in mind, injured or not. "I don't understand, why Trixie and not Sparky or me-- or all of us?"

Kim opened his shock-bright blue eyes, his sweeping long lashes wet with tears. "It appears you will soon understand why, Speed. Trixie, will you help me?"

Trixie squeezed Kim's hand. "Of course I will."


	3. Splint

**Part III: Splint**

Disclaimers the samers as before with an addendum. This is short but it just had to pop out. Um.. if anyone reviews at this point, please do not mention certain plot points publicly and spoil :) thanks.

* * *

"If he tries anything with Trixie..." Speed muttered, smarting from being knocked ass over elbow by someone who was half-dead.

"You and me'd be in there faster than you can say 'Kim Jugger'. Now eat." Sparky ordered.

"Yes, Pops," Speed sighed in exasperation and picked at his cooling food.

Spritle and Chim-Chim had finished eating before they went to help Sparky find Kim's truck and unload it. Now they were camped out in front of the TV. There wasn't much on, most of it seeming to be some anchorman wearing a coffee--goo-- whatever that was they wore on their heads-- announcing the news in Arabic or French or some other language. Chim-Chim spotted a file photo of Kim flashing onto the screen, cut with some footage from a race, along with a curt description of Kim, possible whereabouts, the admonishment that he may be in danger, please call the station if you have any information. The chimpanzee nudged and grunted at Spritle but the boy was too busy boredly examining the pattern on the carpet to take notice. Spritle hated being kept in the dark about Kim. Ever since they put him in Trixie's room it was a big fat secret. He wanted to know. Kim had been a big jerk at first but he turned out to be kind of cool and later let Spritle and Chim-Chim sneak in the fortress to rescue Trixie and Prince Omar. He didn't get all mad about things like the word arse, like Speed did. Spritle fumed, thwarted, there was no way could he listen in at the door, not with Speed and Sparky so close. _What are Kim and Trixie talking about in there, huh?_

--

Feeling somewhat better after Trixie stopped the bleeding and gave him a little juice to drink, Kim sat on the edge of the bed. He sat sullenly while Trixie wiped dust and sweat from his face. In spite of the fact he had servants at home, he did not allow them to wait on him hand and foot and he hated being unable to wash his own damn face. He fussed at the packed ice and towels on his arm and nodded when Trixie asked if she could remove his khaffiyah and aghal. She hung these carefully on the bedpost and marveled at his hair. It was dark brown, glossy and thick, a tumble of dark brown curls on top where it wasn't carefully trained into the locks on the sides that reminded her of what some of the girls back home wore and called "elf fringes" or "spit curls". "Ohh... your hair! I'd love to have hair like yours." She sponged off his neck and behind his ears, refraining from running her hand through his hair though she wanted to. "Guys get all the luck. Clear skin, pretty eyes, long eyelashes-- Speed's like that, so are you, your eyelashes are even longer plus you've got curly hair that's not frizzy! Not fair!"

Kim ignored the gush about his hair. He had heard it enough times whenever he went anywhere with his head uncovered or wearing a cap. "My shirt-- not much left of it. Just get it off me. I itch." He flinched at her touch, cringed at the cold scissors cutting through dried blood.

Trixie unbuttoned the cuff of the good sleeve and slipped the tattered remnants of his shirt over his hands and off, laying it aside among some bloodied towels. "There's blood on your brace, it's damp. I'll have to take this off." She hunted for snaps, hooks, or buttons and found none. Trixie guessed that he pulled this thing over his head and stuck his left arm under the wide sling strap. There were stays in places but the device looked light and flexible, ideal for racing if a little warm. She wondered why he wore it, did he wear a Milwaukee brace as a child and this was the final step to correcting a curvature? Was he in an accident some time back? _Speed should never have fought with him, who knows what kind of damage he could have done!_ She noticed too that Kim's arms and shoulders were muscular but not as heavy nor as defined as she thought they would be. _I thought his arms would be very hairy as well..._ "How do I do this?"

"There's a zipper to the front but it is jammed. There's string lacing on my bad side, see it? Cut through it-- but before you do anything... some water, please?"

Trixie poured Kim a glass of ice water from a pitcher on the dresser and gave it to him. "Don't drink that so fast! You'll make yourself sick!"

"I'll aim for you if I puke."

"Kim! You better not!" Trixie took the glass away and giggled, glad to see a sparkle in those rich blue eyes. She picked up the scissors and slipped a blade into the lacing. Kim twitched and made an _urgghfff_ sound. Thinking the water was on a peristaltic rebound, she reached for one of the ice buckets (_why had Speed and Sparky brought in so many? There must be about twenty of them!_) and asked anxiously, "You need this?"

"N-no! Your hands are cold."

"Sorry!" Trixie set the bucket on the floor and went back to work. She wished she had a sharper pair of scissors. There was a scalpel in one of the other first-aid kits but she was not about to stop and ask for another. _I'll get this off, Kim... sometime before General Abdul Noble gets here_. Pop... one string cut through, then another. She took hold of one end of the string and gave it a tentative pull, seeing if it would slide through like a shoelace. No dice. More cutting and the lacing began to gradually gap open, showing lining underneath. Using the scissors blade like a knife, she slipped it through the rest of the way. "I'm going to cut the lining now, Kim." Upon opening the brace, she dropped the scissors and quickly stifled her shriek with her fist.

Trixie expected to see a gaping wound, a gush of blood at worst, or a network of scars old and new. If Kim had projectile vomited water on her, she would probably throw up on him right back but not be too shocked. Not this, she never expected this. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates at the sight of what was all too obvious. Trixie stood up and backed away slowly, uncovering her mouth, unable to speak. Kim reached painfully to shuck off the brace and completely uncover a pair of full dark-nippled breasts that spent most of their days flattened by bandages or the brace. He-- or rather she-- snatched the khaffiyah from the bedpost and covered herself.

"I-I should've warned y-you about the... 'the girls'," Kim stammered sheepishly, her laugh a wheeze.

Trixie leaned against the dresser and exhaled with a whoosh. "No wonder you fought Speed so hard about him removing your shirt!" She filled another ice bucket with warm water and sat down again, washing the drying blood from Kim's back. She found a cut on her back. "There's a piece of glass in your back, hang on."

"Nice save about 'religious reasons', Trixie. It's not the case with me but thanks." She palmed the ice pack, which was sliding out of its wrappings, and plopped it into the ice bucket.

"You're welcome, Kim. Speed sometimes has trouble taking no for an answer-- goodness, I have to find something for you to put on! I think I have something but we're not exactly the same size!" With a small forceps, she tweezed the glass out. "I think that's all of it."

"It burns but if there are any splinters I'll know about it later. There's a loose black shirt in my case and a pair of matching trousers too-- and some socks too, please?" Kim took the soapy wash cloth from Trixie. She would have killed for a shower about now but this would have to do. Her voice rattled and knocked, like an engine long in storage. She thought she may have to continue to use her male voice, which had been so much a part of her for so many years that her natural voice sounded forced.

Trixie popped open the suitcase and found the shirt neatly folded atop layers of white, red, black, and yellow fabric, as if it had risen to the top knowing it was needed. She quickly found the pants Kim described, along with some socks and underwear. _Did Kim have any women's clothes at all_? After a quick toweling and a spray of antiperspirant ("Only under your good arm!" "Fine, don't complain about the pong later."), she helped Kim into the loose shirt. "It's big enough to fit Racer X with room to spare but it isn't hiding 'the girls' as you call them."

"I know. I have two other braces in the trunk as well as some bandages to bind with but there's no time to go digging. This will have to do for now." Kim watched Trixie pull off her boots and socks and remained silent. Next came the jeans, briefs and another thing that shocked Trixie-- this time into gaping silence. Kim produced a thin cotton sock stuffed loosely and sewn together to form a cylinder of several inches long. This was attached to a stuffed base made from another sock. She flipped it into the plastic bag that held her shredded shirt, bloodied towels and stray pieces of tape.

After Kim was bathed and dressed (and had smirkingly snuck in another spray of antiperspirant to the untreated armpit, which Trixie was too flabbergasted about other things to bother scolding her about), Trixie hesitantly asked, "Kim... what _was_ that-- that... _thing_ in your pants?"

"Oh.. _that_. I use it in order to make myself look more male like a man who tries to look like a woman would use something to make it appear he has a bosom. Though this is not as obvious, some people do check and the way some of my trousers are cut, if it looks like something's not there that should be, it would raise suspicion. The collars of most of my shirts are high enough that lack of the Adam's apple hasn't given me away." Kim settled against the pillows Trixie propped up. "Thank you for helping me, Trixie.

Green eyes met blue and Trixie asked Kim: "Why?"

Kim lowered her eyes, her lashes casting shadows on her cheekbones. "It's a long story and not a pretty one. It will be some time before Abdul Noble arrives, traffic was bad enough when I got here and is absolute hell coming into town about now. Bring in Sparky and Speed, I don't wish to have to tell this over and over. You and Speed can tell Spritle what you feel he can understand. Please me do me one more favor, Trixie?"

"What do you need, Kim?"

"You haven't eaten. Call room service. Once you've done that, bring the men in."

"Do you want anything?"

The thought of eating made Kim's stomach turn. "No.. well, maybe a 7-Up."


	4. Kim Moonlight is Dead

**Part IV: Kim Moonlight is Dead**

* * *

_"... hurry, Kim Tarik! Go tell your father! There's no time!" _

_"Mother?" Kim Badra, confused, frightened, wondered if her mother had completely gone wild with grief, had confused her with her brother. _

_"There's no time! Go! Tell him Kim Badra is dead!" _

_"But Mother..." Why was Mother letting Khadija give her Tarik's clothes to wear? Why wouldn't the servants let her in to see Tarik one last time before they took him away to wash and shroud him? What was going on? _

_"No buts! Get dressed, Tarik! Ride, tell the general she's gone..." _

_Badra steeled her spine, determined to scream the truth in the insanity. _"I'm _Kim Badra! Don't make me do this! Don't make me lie! Don't make me--" _

_Khadija grabbed Badra and slapped her face. "Do as you're told! Your father will send you and your mother away if he knows his son is gone. He has no use for little girls, especially sneaky, spoiled little brats with witches' eyes like you. Do. You. Understand. Me? You are Kim Tarik from this day forward. Remember that!" Khadija gave her a shake before releasing her. _

_"Inti sharira!" Kim Badra shouted, dashing down the hall. Shivering, heart pounding, she bolted the bathroom door and dressed in her brother's clothes. She was too frightened and angry to cry anymore and didn't wish to give _her _the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She ran outside and to the stables, throwing the door to Naama's stall open, causing the bay mare to start. Something was wrong, the mare sensed it, when the girl led her out by the halter and did not bother with tacking her. _

_Badra lightly vaulted aboard and rode into the night, heading straight for the fortress. Maybe she should tell the truth, that Tarik was dead. No. Auntie Khadija was right. If she did, she and her mother would be sent away and it would be all her fault. His fault._

--

Trixie, looking worse for the wear, stepped out of the room and closed the door. Speed and Sparky looked up impatiently, expectantly at her and were rewarded with her going straight to the phone and calling room service. They looked at each other with a "huh?" and realized that what of Trixie's supper that Chim-Chim and Spritle hadn't demolished was cold and she hadn't yet eaten. Spritle was out cold on the couch, Chim-Chim curled next to him, while an old black-and-white movie on the TV flickered blue light. After hanging up the phone, Trixie began quietly, "Kim has something she needs to tell us."

Sparky snickered. "Room service better hurry, Trixie just called Kim 'she'. I think her blood sugar's at an all time low."

Trixie growled like a cat. "Oooh! Will you listen to me? I don't you two walking in there and acting like, well, boys. The reason Kim finally consented to someone taking a look at that wound and that someone being me is because Kim happens to be _female_."

Speed's jaw dropped in shock. Sparky, being Sparky, couldn't restrain a whistle. "All this time I thought he went around with his chest puffed out to make it look like he had more pecs than he actually had--"

Speed cut him off. "He didn't carry himself like that all the time, Sparky. Not when he was wearing other clothes. I never would've guessed even though some of the ways he waved his hands... I've seen some tall girls but not _that_ tall. The eye paint means nothing because bin Schemer wore a ton of it--"

Trixie tapped her foot. "That's enough. We don't have time, let's go."

--

Sparky draped himself across a large chair, back against one arm, knees hooked over the other. He blinked, noticed quickly that Kim's shirt was filled out in a place that hadn't been before and did his damndest not to stare. Speed settled himself in one of the swivel chairs, his long-lashed blue eyes soft with concern. Trixie sat next to Speed, closest to Kim, folded her slim arms and waited patiently.

Kim smiled crookedly, eyes narrowed in apprehension. "I believe Trixie has filled you in, you don't seem too surprised."

Speed and Sparky silently nodded.

Kim began. Her voice was not much higher than her male voice. Her speech was smoother, its former clipped delivery replaced with rises and falls which made her accent richer. "You'll want to know why. It's long and I'll try to keep it short as possible." A knock on the door interrupted. "Room service. Trixie must eat."

Speed laid a hand on Trixie's shoulder, said something in her ear and left. He returned bearing a tray with a light meal of a chicken breast and a vegetable and bread side, a Coke and a 7-Up. "Thirsty, Trix? Or indecisive?"

Trixie took the 7-Up, opened it and brought it to Kim. "Thank you," Kim said. "Eat now, Trixie, before you faint." Kim took a swallow, set the bottle down on the night stand and drew up the blankets closer. She silently cursed the air conditioning for being up so high, then cursed herself for forgetting the Go Team was unaccustomed to the heat and needed the air on for their comfort. They'll turn it off when it turns dark and cools off, she figured. Kim took a deep breath and began:

"I'm a twin-- we were both called Kim because my parents liked the name. I was called Badra-- that's 'full moon' in English, and my brother Tarik-- which is the name of a star, or else means 'a knock at the door in the night'. I think you can see how which of our parents we looked like, or however one says that, I mean, you've met my father and I don't have his face.

"The general had two wives who were older, their children grown and moved on. They lived with us in the same house some of the time. We had separate apartments, or else separate houses at times. There were the old ruins left from the Egyptians and that weird face in the rock. It's not the Palace of Doom, bin Schemer called it that to try and scare you." She rolled her eyes. "He was stupid. For a time it is called Calli Quetzalcoatl. Some eccentric built it, believing that some homely and gloomy Aztec god, Ket-something-or-other, had come here in his exile from Mexico and that the face on the wall was his, that when he came here he grew handsome and happy and stayed here. This place is used in movie sets sometimes. The other children and I used to explore there often, within reason. Guards and barriers were everywhere making sure we didn't run into trouble. It's a jumble... with all the jackals, or are they coyotes? Not that there are any indigenous Flathillers, we come from all over: Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Iraq, Qatar-- sorry. I'll get to the point." Kim raised one hand to her forehead, prompting Trixie to ask her if she was all right.

Spritle crept quietly and took up a listening post as close to the door as he dared, cautioning Chim-Chim to remain quiet. They had only pretended to be asleep, just to see if someone would leave the door open. Spritle had nearly fallen off the couch when he heard Trixie tell his brother and Sparky that she found out Kim was a lady! It took some real hard work pretending to stay asleep. So when they snuck into the fortress wearing those cheesy costumes and with Chim-Chim hiding in the netful of melons, Kim was a girl pretending to be a boy pretending _verrry badly_ to be a girl. Sounded almost like a story problem in arithmetic class or one of those wobbly Russian dolls with another doll inside, and another, and another.

"Take your time, Kim," Speed encouraged gently.

Kim began to protest with the two words that had become her theme song lately: _no time_, but stopped herself. "My father met my mother in 1946 at a venue in Mohammed Ali Street in Cairo where my mother was a _raksa_-- a belly dancer, as you say. She was also an actress with some small roles in Egyptian movies. Her height posed a casting problem, she was six feet tall-- I think you noticed that my family tends to be tall-- though she did attract the attention of Hollywood filmmakers. My mother was twenty-two when she gave up dancing and the idea of any greater fame in movies for my father, who was thirty-eight, and became his first and only concubine. WThey would have married, the two-wife limit was not yet enacted, but local men could not marry actresses, dancers, strippers, or prostitutes." She rolled her eyes. "Prince Omar is working to repeal this stupid law but his cabinet keeps opposing this. Or it did. He is in seclusion and the state of the government is obviously unstable. "We were born in August of the next year. I think Mother wasn't sure what to do with us half the time, we were such spoiled little beasts for Father adored and indulged us, as did Mother Aisha and Mother Jamila and all our older brothers and sisters. I wish she had been swept off her feet by some actor or had gone to Hollywood, none of this would never have happened.

"When we were nine, my brother was sick. He had a cold that settled in his chest and he had a fever, which did not help his asthma. I had the same cold myself and shook it off quickly. He began to get better but still coughed in the night. Mother moved him to my room because it was cooler there and it eased his breathing. I dragged in a mat and a blanket so I could keep an eye on Tarik, give him his medicine or some tea and water when he needed it. And to talk when he couldn't sleep.

"We both were asleep when that woman came in one night. How we couldn't stand her but we had to be nice to her and call her 'auntie' on our mother's account! She turned on the lights and woke us so rudely and set Tarik to coughing again. If she'd leave us alone he would sleep through the night and feel better in the morning. She came in with the syringe and Tarik got up and tried to run out of the room. Needles did not scare us but he didn't want this one, I don't know if he knew something or just wanted to be left alone. He was too wobbly to run or fight. I told her to leave him be and she told me to shut up, that what she had would break his fever, clear up his cough and help him sleep. I tried to pull her out of there, I should, I.. fight her harder but she was too strong..."

Kim paused, voice breaking. She took a quick swallow of her drink, determined not to cry. She tried bowing her head, closing her eyes and shutting down, as she had when Abdul Noble, Speed and Spritle delivered shock after shock in the general's heiroglyph-friezed quarters in someone's small castle. It had worked then, given her time to think quickly and spring into action. Not now. Trixie's small hand rested on her arm and Speed's unwavering gaze fixed on her. Sparky, it was hard to tell. He was off in some other orbit or else had fallen asleep. Trixie's hand slipped inside hers and she knew she had to go on, get this out.

"Khadija knocked me over, pinned Tarik and gave him the shot in his arm. 'It burns!', he screamed over and over. He was more gentle than I so he did not call her names like I often did. She made a big show of comforting him and putting him back to bed, then told me to go sleep somewhere else. One of the servants called her and she forgot about me so I went back to my place on the mat and stayed with him. He was coughing so hard he threw up, she upset him so. I fetched him some water so he could rinse his mouth and I took away the bucket and came back. I don't know what she gave him..." One tear streamed slowly down Kim's cheek and she started shaking. She choked, "His breathing had grown worse, he started to cry and told me everything hurts, he can't move. I hugged him and his whole body went stiff as a board. I called for the servants, for Mother, for anyone but Khadija. It was too late, by the time anyone came he went limp and he was dead."

"Oh, Kim!" Trixie burst into tears. She could not find anything to say. Sparky shifted uncomfortably in the chair, unnerved. Speed's eyes flashed in anger and he gritted his teeth. As soon as he calmed himself enough, he strode to Kim's bed bearing a box of tissues.

"Kim," Speed prodded gently, "who was Khadija?"

Kim's eyes flashed, the tears stopped instantly, and she shook herself free of Trixie's grip. "She was a scientist. She kept venomous snakes, scorpions, spiders of all kinds in a separate outbuilding with its own laboratory. She'd milk or harvest them for antivenin, which was used by the army and also exported around the world. She used to create her own antivenin and would make stronger venom concentrates to test them. I think you have an idea what she gave Tarik. That murdering bitch was Ali bin Schemer's second wife."

Trixie covered her mouth to stifle her gasp. Sparky jackknifed into a straight sitting position. Speed hmmm'ed to himself, trying to keep his reactions quiet so Kim wouldn't suddenly shut down. He wondered if maybe he and Sparky should leave, let her talk this out with Trixie. Trixie's tears convinced him otherwise. She was carrying and expressing the pain Kim was holding back--which was not helping Kim. Kim needed to get this out herself.

Kim went on: "That's when everything just went crazy. Nothing made any sense at all. Everyone in the house started insisting _I_ was Kim Tarik and that Kim Badra had died. I tried to correct them but Khadija put a stop to that. The servants shut the door in my face, I had to put on a set of Tarik's clothes and ride to the fortress and tell Father. When I arrived so many soldiers tried to stop me, wondering what I was doing out of bed, scolding me for riding Naama so hard. I hoped one of them would realize I was Badra and not Tarik but we'd both caught head lice a couple months ago in the city school and my hair, which was quite long, had been cut off so it was hard to tell us apart, especially when we wore play clothes. Someone would've taken a scissors to my hair that night if it had not already been cut off. Most of the... most of the soldiers didn't see us all the time anyway. I.. I finally found Father and I was about ready to tell him the truth about Khadija and the shot she gave Tarik but I remembered what Khadija said about how we'd be sent away if he knew that his son was dead and not his daughter."

_"Your father will send you and your mother away if he knows that his son is gone. He has no use for little girls--" _

_"What is it, son? What are you doing here? You've been sick, you should be in bed!"_

"I just stood in that bare room where my father had his desk... so many men, some not much more than boys, staring at me. I couldn't say anything. Father came up to me, got down on one knee and all I could get out was a croak. He asked me again what was going on, he knew something had to be horribly wrong for me to ride out here at night from the house, what had brought me here? I.. I ended up telling him in English and got it wrong... _Kim Moonlight is dead_!. H-he didn't believe me at first because Tarik was the sick one but then he looked like I'd struck him. Two of his men took hold of him before he fell and-- he embraced me and I couldn't understand what he was saying, he frightened me, I'd never seen Father like this. I started feeling sick as if maybe Khadija had poisoned me as well and someone said, 'Take the boy'. I heard my father crying and I wanted to say that I'm not a boy, _I'm_ Kim Badra, Kim _Tarik_ is dead, tell him everything that happened but nothing came out. Not that any of that would've made him feel any better and Khadija had me convinced he would send me away if I told him the truth.

"Somebody picked me up, wrapped me in a blanket and carried me out. I can't remember who it was, one of the soldiers, an officer. Someone young with blue eyes. He took Naama from the guards who were walking her to cool her off and tethered her to his camel, then he took me home..." Kim's voice failed and a wail escaped her. Each hitching sob tore at her wound.

--

_Kim squirmed in the young officer's grip, tried to talk but whatever came out was a delirium of no known language. _

_"Ssh, Kim... try to sleep. Don't talk." The hoarse voice was not the most soothing but his calm manner had its effects. The child's wide, tilted blue eyes searched his, demanded to know why. He had no answers, he could only hold Kim close and admonish him to keep still and not fight him. Kim stopped struggling and cried softly, clutching a portion of the boy soldier's khaffiyah like a much younger child would. _

_The camel's slow rocking motion lulled Kim to sleep by the time they passed the ruins of the folly built over a hundred years ago by an eccentric millionaire archaeologist/historian from no particular place in the Americas. He came to the Flathills to study its culture and ended up settling there. The face on the ruins, whoever it was, had a streak of sand or erosion on that wasn't there before. Gleaming in the moonlight, it looked like a tear. Was Quetzalcoatl, far from his native Mexico, weeping on this night in 1957, knowing the ruin of life in the Flathill country had begun?_

--

Two slow thumps followed by a rapid tattoo of six taps at the suite entrance door startled them into silence.


	5. General Abdul Noble

**Part V: General Abdul Noble**

**

* * *

  
**

Spritle and Chim-Chim slinked along the hallway, prepared to use the pit stop excuse, though there was a full bath in their room. They had no need, for the only one awake was Sparky, who paid them little mind.

Sparky had to leave the room or go crazy. It wasn't that he was as insensitive as people said he was, it was far too much for him to absorb, to tolerate. He collected the cards left scattered from the game abandoned an eternity ago, his thoughts racing. He wondered why anyone would kill a child in such a way, to what purpose. Likely Kim Tarik stood to inherit leadership of the Flathill Country-- but wasn't that under Prince Omar's jurisdiction? Perhaps Omar was related to Kim and the two Alis in some way. The pie-faced prince was still quite young. Perhaps he had advisers, a cabinet (was Kim's father on it)? But why kill one of any of the boys in cold blood and send the daughter in as the ringer? It made no sense, the whole scheme was untenable. Maybe Khadija-- and perhaps bin Schemer himself-- thought as the girl matured and could no longer pass for a boy, Ali Gallant's mind would unravel and as a result, he would lose status and his command of his army. Perhaps they wouldn't count on her disguising her gender and living as Kim Tarik all these years. How did she get into racing? What happened to her mother?

The drumming on the door completely derailed Sparky's train of thought. He opened the door. No one there. He leaned out, looking left, then right. Still no one. "Huh." He closed the door, assuming it was someone playing Ding Dong Ditch. Speed materialized at his side and tapped the door twice, paused, then two more taps. Three rapid taps and a thump sounded in answer and Speed opened the door.

General Abdul Noble, long and lean, strode alongside Speed and Sparky into Trixie's room, a duffel slung over one shoulder and a folding chair in one hand. His long blue-lined ivory khaffiyah was held in place by a white-trimmed red-and-black aghal but was tossed around his neck and shoulders and tied out of the way rather than worn loose and flowing as he had when Spritle and Speed first encountered him. Instead of the red-trimmed whites and the decorative _jambiyah_ dagger he wore when he rescued Spritle, Chim-Chim, Speed and Kim, he dressed in modern khakis and a pair of lightweight sand-colored combat boots. His sky-blue eyes were stark against his dark, angular face, which was framed by parentheses-like side curls much like those Kim wore. He sported a thin moustache which added a dashing movie-star touch. Trixie had trouble taking her eyes off him. Speed twitched inwardly with jealousy, noticing that even the general's harsh, nasal voice did nothing to spoil the effect he had on his girl. Nor did the fact the guy needed a shower, a shave and a good night's sleep. Speed then remembered how many times he was annoyed when Trixie got at him for looking at another girl. _What's good for the goose and all that rot,_ he told himself, still fuming.

Kim clutched the blanket to her chest and switched to her male voice. "We meet again, General. It's been years. Remember me? I'm Kim Badra bint Ali."

Abdul Noble muttered, "You've always had a somewhat warped sense of humor, Kim, but you're not yourself today so I'll let that one slide." Trixie eased out of the way and stood next to Speed. Sparky joined them in the silence that felt like a sudden change in barometric pressure. Speed feared that Kim was going to fight Abdul Noble like she'd fought him when he'd tried to tend the wound.

Kim chuckled mirthlessly and went back to her own voice. "Oh, but I _am_ myself, finally, after ten years. I couldn't say it then but I have to tell you now so you don't get a surprise or two when you remove that bullet-- not that you haven't seen tits before, General, in your line of work."

"Kim!" Trixie and Speed gasped in unison. Sparky couldn't help but snicker at yet another one of Speed and Trixie's attacks of oh-my-virgin-ears. He could like a cool chick like Kim. She probably didn't drink and was a good six inches taller than him but who cared?

Abdul Noble shook his head, wondering if Kim had truly lost his mind. He placed an ice bucket in Speed's hands and another in Sparky's. "Fill yours with ice," he commanded Speed. To Sparky he said, "Hot water." The boys split up on their errands, the general legged over to wash his hands at the bathroom sink, Trixie trailing in his wake. Kim smirked, filing this one away in her memory banks. Trixie's jealousy over Speed was track talk of legendary proportions everywhere. Her following the general like a cow-eyed thirteen-year-old was just too funny.

Trixie caught her starry-eyed reflection in the vanity mirror and straightened her face. Calmly she informed, "Kim wouldn't allow us to call a doctor or take her to a hospital. She finally consented to me checking the wound after you called." At this Noble looked up, blue eyes meeting brown in the mirror's reflection while he turned off the taps. "She's telling the truth, General. I saw for myself, Kim's been disguising herself as a man."

Noble frowned, about to interject with a grunt of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes, shook the excess water from his hands, wiped them on a clean towel and said, "I'll need your help then, Miss..."

"Shimura. Please, call me Trixie." She backed out of the bathroom and turned, taking the bucket of ice from the just-returned Speed.

Noble raised an eyebrow at the surname. By reflex, Trixie explained, "Oh, I'm not Japanese, my stepfather is. My name was Belden before-- just like Trixie Belden in the mystery series." Her giggle was brittle and nervous, the stress of the past two days and exhaustion and her effort of trying not to act like, well, a _girl_ around the general showing itself.

"It is a Japanese name too? It's also--"

"I have a case for you to crack, Schoolgirl Shamus," Kim called. "It's called _The Mystery of the Missing Soda_. I can't find my 7-up."

Abdul Noble responded, "I know where it went. I poured it down the drain and room service has collected the bottle along with the rest of the dishes by now." He arranged a workspace on the nightstand.

Speed, Trixie and Sparky giggled at this and Kim pouted, "Dang! I was still drinking that!"

"Sorry, Mart," Trixie quipped. "I'll see you get another soon as the general gives the okay."

The general raised his eyes to the ceiling, wondering what he was going to do with this punchy bunch. To his relief, it took little time for them to settle down. Speed and Sparky took their leave without being asked and closed the door behind them. "Where is the wound?" he asked Trixie.

Trixie indicated the deltoid of Kim's right arm. "Here, you'll see the bullet sticking out of her skin when you take the dressing off, I'm not sure I did the right thing but she was bleeding--" waving above the triceps, where the bullet entered her shirt sleeve, "and she had glass in her back, I pulled out a small piece but I don't know if I got it all. The, um, the brace she wore had a tear in it right at the boning as well, I think it saved her from further injury, blocking the bullet like it did."

Abdul Noble blinked at the mention of the brace but did not question it at this point. He turned down the bed covers after nudging Kim into moving over (who snorted and rolled her eyes like a horse at the thought of getting up) and spread some towels on the sheets. "I'll step out for a moment. Help Kim remove his-- pardon me-- her shirt. When you're done, Kim, lie face down on the bed between two sheets. This should cover you enough and give me room to work." The general walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Trixie carefully began to Kim out of the T-shirt. "How'd you know about the Trixie Belden series, Kim?"

"They were at the city school library, in English. I ended up taking several books home and I hid them before they were all given away when I 'died'." She took a deep breath and went on. "I had dolls but they were collected and taken away for the poor children. I had some animal toys, they stayed, I insisted! Tarik and I played with them together as we did with the cars. People gave us both cars. Some of the older people thought this would confuse me when I was still myself but younger heads argued that women drive cars all the time in our country, don't they?"

"I had cars too and helicopters, my stepbrothers sometimes painted them special for me. There weren't any that my dolls fit though except for a covered wagon I made out of a cereal box--" Trixie eased the T-shirt over Kim's head and braced herself for the hard part: getting the sleeve over the injury. Her bandaging handiwork had kept the bleeding down but she didn't want to cause the girl any unnecessary pain. "I'll try to be as gentle as I can but your arm swelled up. I think I can get this off without cutting the sleeve but if you'd prefer I cut it...?"

"Just pull the blasted thing off." Kim inhaled sharply through gritted teeth while Trixie carefully eased the sleeve and the rest of the T-shirt over her arm and off. "Aggghhh!! Damn, that hurt!" Kim turned over onto her stomach as instructed.

Trixie pulled another sheet over Kim's back and called, "Come in!" in the direction of the bathroom. The general emerged and Trixie, shifting to field nurse gear, waited for instruction. She still allowed herself to look but acting like a star-struck teenie-bopper was not on. This was going to be a job. That man had mondo _presence_.

He sat in the folding chair at Kim's right, shifted until he was comfortable. He reached in his bag, found a box of gloves and sighed, finding it empty though he could have sworn it was full earlier today. It didn't surprise him. Supplies were low and the convoys coming in from Sandoland had their problems with the terrain and remaining bands of the rebel troops. Much of where they needed to get to was better managed by the distinctive fast and heavy Flathill camel, a result of generations of introducing Egyptian racing dromedaries and the two-humped Bactrians into the even-tempered Sandoli stock. He set out a bottle of alcohol and a paper-wrapped packet of surgical instruments on the night table and accepted a first aid kit from Trixie, just in case it was needed. Easing the sheet down slightly, he cleaned some small cuts on Kim's shoulderblade. Kim twitched but made no sound when Abdul Noble found a bit of metal in one and removed it with a forceps. He cleaned the cut Trixie had removed the glass shard from earlier and asked, "Where did the glass come from?" He had parked his Rover next to the Gipsy and did not see any broken windows.

"I locked the keys in the house and had to break a window to get back in," Kim groaned. "I don't remember scraping or cutting myself though."

"That's where your brace was," Trixie pointed out. "Maybe the glass fell from the window frame and down your shirt?"

"That's possible." Kim watched as Abdul Noble produced a length of unused radiator hose, a small bottle and a wrapped glass hypodermic. "What's that for?" She cringed, a bead of sweat streaming down her forehead despite the air conditioning, her eyes widening at the sight of the glass-tubed syringe. The last few shots she had gotten were from the newer plastic pump types, not one of these..._Khadija_ had one of these...

"It's a local. I need to inject this to remove the bullet."

Kim squirmed and gasped, closing her eyes, then flatly objected, "No shot. Just take the fucking thing out without it."

The general filled and tapped the needle and explained, "Sorry. Without it, your muscles will tense and make removal impossible. I can't give you something stronger that will knock you out here and you really don't want to go to hospital to have that done, do you, Kim?"

Kim fired a volley of invective in heavy Flathill Arabic. Trixie wondered what that was all about while the general chuckled.

"Feel better, Kim?" To Trixie he said, "It was not as creative as it sounded."

"I told him that he liked his camel a bit more than was proper, if you get my drift," Kim muttered. "As well as a few other things."

"Kim!" Trixie scolded.

Any response from Kim was stopped by the general holding the radiator hose in front of her face. Kim bit down on the radiator hose and gave a muffled roar as the general administered the injection. She spit out the hose with a "yurggghhh!" Within seconds, Abdul Noble had the bullet out and dropped it onto the paper with a clatter. He cleaned the wound, checking for fragments, Kim complaining that he was pulling and pushing and it felt weird. She muttered some more during suturing and fell silent while the dressing was applied.

"You're lucky," Abdul Noble told her as he collected, cleaned and put away his instruments. "The bullet lodged itself right between two muscles. You're going to be sore but there was fortunately no damage. You must have managed to get out of the way in time or something slowed that shot down."

"Defective weapon, maybe. The arms master was not very bright, he rarely held an inspection and bin Schemer hoarded everything and issued very little. Figured it was my job to check." Kim rolled her eyes. "Of course, _he_ wanted it that way, disorganized with nobody knowing what their orders were, so he could take over and create order from chaos. I don't know why I never noticed, stupid me."

"Don't trouble yourself, Kim. That's how bin Schemer worked." He tossed the syringe and other used surgery items into the bag containing the bloody towels, the bloody shirt and the torn khaffiyah. He ducked into the bathroom to wash his hands again and then slipped out of the room with the bag.

--

"Kim's doing fine," Abdul Noble informed Speed and Sparky, who were half-heartedly playing rummy at the card table. "Cursed me quite roundly."

"That's Kim all right," Sparky noted. "Can we see him--her?"

"Knock first." With that the general strode out the door, heading for the incinerator.

"Where's he going with that?" Sparky wondered.

Speed didn't bother to ask, instead he checked the time. Past Spritle's bedtime, never mind the time zone. He found the boy pajama'ed and sound asleep in his bed, Chim-Chim curled beside him. Hmm. _Looks like he's asleep for real_. Bed was starting to look good to him about now. He'd had enough of Sandoland, Flathill Country and a madman's takeover likely rooted in generations of unrest. Kim was all right, she could sleep in Trixie's bed, all they needed was a rollaway for Trixie.

Kim sat in a chair, the black shirt exchanged for a sand-colored one with very loose sleeves.

"Kim, how are you feeling?" Speed asked.

"Sore." The local had worn off and she had refused any injection for pain.

"I'd be sore, too, if my bed got short-sheeted," Sparky said with a grin.

"Ha," Kim grunted.

"Well, why aren't you doing anything about it, Sparky?" Speed wanted to know. He picked up the phone and called the front desk. He requested a rollaway bed and some sheets and blankets please, thank you, was transferred to Housekeeping, repeated his request, please, thank you, hung up the phone. Within a few minutes came a knock on the door. Two lovely young women, identical twins in midnight blue, one with the rollaway and the other with stacks of linen, floated into the room. Speed and Sparky could not take their eyes off them. Two pairs of gold coin eyes twinkled in their direction. Speed turned on his famous thousand-watt charm, smiling broadly, tilting his head just so, making certain they could see his clear skin and long-lashed indigo eyes but always gee-golly-gosh he was a good boy.

Trixie hmmphed, folded her arms across her chest and turned aside, nose in the air. Kim frowned, her eyes widened and she looked at Trixie as if she suddenly sprouted tentacles from her face like Cthulhu. She thought girls only did that prissy-offended bit in books and on TV, not in real life. Sparky rolled in the rollaway and Speed took the stack of bed linens himself. This also confused Kim. Wasn't that what the hotel maids were for, to make the beds? Why do that yourself when you pay the exhorbitant rates at the Imperial? She watched Trixie grab the rollaway from a surprised Sparky and wrestle with it, her movements short and hard. The boys bantered over which end of the sheet was which but had the bed made in record time. They charged a little too quickly to help Kim back into bed but Noble's drumming knock on the door stopped them in their tracks and they pivoted like a drill team to answer it.

Kim stood up, glad for once she wasn't dizzy from the effort. Trixie took her good arm and walked with her. Once safely situated, Kim pulled up the covers and said, "That wasn't cute, Trixie."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Trixie squinted at her like a cat.

"When the maids were here, your little public display. Ahh.. if you were four I'd let it slide." Kim stared Trixie straight in the eye, unwavering, while angry red flags rushed to Trixie's cheeks. Calmly Kim continued, "Jealousy is not pretty, dear. Oh, it does happen but something which must be guarded lest it drives your man away. The ladies are going to look at Speed and flirt, he is one of the finer cats I've seen anywhere. Of course he will flirt right back. Does it mean anything?"

Tears of rage sprang from Trixie's eyes and poured down her cheeks. "I.. I hate it when he does that in front of me," she choked in a small voice, turning away to stare at the carpet's pattern.

Kim took her hand. There were so many things that she had not learned about boy-girl behavior in life, having lived a semi-secluded life for so long, and so much of this reminded her of American or Japanese television. It was all too easy to see Trixie was afraid of losing Speed to the charms of the many girls who crossed his path. "He always comes straight back to you, doesn't he? Does he ever leave with any other girl?"

"He comes back to me. We've been steady for two years."

"And you look at the guys. Of course you do, Trixie. I saw you looking at Abdul Noble."

Trixie stopped crying instantly, let go of Kim's hand and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I was not!" she protested.

"Of course you were! You couldn't take your eyes off him!" Kim teased, grinning like a cat.

"Ooooh! You're... well, he is handsome, don't you agree?"

Kim's smile fell away. "Ordinary, boring, every other man in Flathill Country looks like him. Not my type at all."

Trixie noticed a blush creeping across Kim's golden cheeks and was about to fire a comeback when the devil they spoke of came in, accompanied by Speed. "Kim, are you allergic to any medicines?" Abdul Noble wanted to know.

"None that I know of," she replied.

"Good. I'll send Trixie and Speed to pick up some prescriptions. Trixie, may I write them in your name, in case anyone looking for Kim tries the pharmacy? The chances are slim that will happen but it's a chance I'd rather not take."

"Of course, General."

The general pulled a prescription pad and pen from his kit and began writing, then looked at Trixie. "That's T-r-i...?"

"x-i-e."

"S-h-i-m-r..?"

"No, S-h-i-m?"

"N..?"

"M as in man," Trixie corrected.

S-h-i-m-m-e-r..?"

"S-h-i-m-u-r-a." "Oh, I always thought it was pronounced 'shi-MOOR-a. Shimrah is an Indian name, you understand my confusion? I am sorry--" Trixie waved off his apology and took the scrips for some strange drugs whose names she didn't recognize. The signature read "A. Hamid Sharif". _Who? Don't ask_. Was he legally authorized to write prescriptions? Was he actually a doctor? Whose name is that? Trixie glanced at Speed, who took the local Sandoli dinar notes and a list with directions and some food items on it. Dry crackers and another bottle of 7-up, something to put on Kim's stomach to keep the pills from upsetting it. Sparky joined them on their walk, glad to get out for a bit, figuring if Spritle and Chim-Chim woke up in the time they were gone, the general could order them back to bed handily.

--

"Now tell me how this happened," the general asked Kim. He wondered why Kim grew frightened at the sight of the glass hypo and suddenly fought him on it. Not that fits of stubbornness and temper were unusual, the lad was hot-tempered and had been spoiled as a child, especially since the loss of his sister. Brother. Or were the twins girls and one was disguised as a boy for some unfathomable reason? One thing he had not learned in his years in the British schools in Egypt and Sandoland was reserve-- though he could pretend it when necessary. Not now. He had too much invested in Kim over the years and this sudden surprise Trixie had sprung on him was a can of worms. Better to get it out of Kim herself. "Kim, I know, you think I have nothing better to do than spy on you. I do have my orders to keep an eye on you, I have for some time. However, long ago someone did not have your well-being in mind. I have a feeling you've been doing this a lot longer than you have been racing."

Kim repeated in Arabic a brief version of what she had told the Go Team.

"Oh, no, Kim, your father was devastated when he learned he had lost his daughter! He would never have sent you away if he learned the truth. I was there!" Horrified, Abdul Noble felt as if he had swallowed a large stone, which had landed in his stomach with a sickening thud. "If anyone would have been sent away it would've been Khadija, she would have been locked up."

"I should have said something but-- I couldn't--" Kim's voice broke. _Not in front of him, no, you're not crying_! A gentle hand rested on her good arm and its touch shook her apart. "I don't know why I didn't say a bloody thing-- why I kept this up so long--"

"Instead of someone picking up the telephone or calling on the radio, you were told to ride so you would be out of the way, giving the servants enough time to prepare your brother's body before anyone who was not present would come to the house. Anyone who arrived would see that your brother was shrouded as a girl child would be... and the shroud would not be disturbed unless there was good reason. Which no one thought there was. Of course you believed it when you were told you would be sent away if you disobeyed and told the truth, you were only what, nine years old?" Tears burned Abdul Noble's eyes and he blinked them back. He silently cursed Kim's mother for allowing her daughter to live in fear and a murderess to go unpunished. No wonder Kim barely even blinked when she was told of her mother's death. Where were General Ali Gallant's wives when all this was going on? Kept in the dark and packed off to live with their grown children, probably, to keep more prying eyes away. How did Khadija pull this off? He remembered the stunningly beautiful second wife of Ali bin Schemer as being dull-eyed and unpleasant, not someone anyone would want to get to know, but she seemed relatively harmless. What kind of power did that woman have over people to make them bend to her whim so readily? What could he know, he did not live in the same quarters.

Kim nodded and whispered, "We didn't have phones at our house but we did have a radio."

_Of all things to remember, no phones!_ The general smiled at this, buying some time to collect himself and again puzzling at Kim's train of thought. "And soon you became so accustomed to 'being' Tarik that when Khadija died, you kept on living as Tarik."

"Until now... but I carry part of him with me always in my heart." Kim turned half on her side, fixing streaming eyes on the general. "I always wondered who took me and Naama home that night. I only remember his eyes."

"That was me."

"You? But... you would've been too young then!"

Abdul Noble kept his hand on her wrist. "I imagine to you I looked older than I was. I was seventeen then. I'm twenty-seven, Kim." He had run out of anything to say, was unsure how to help.

"Thank you for taking me home, even if you did throw me to the wolves. Not that you knew what was going on. Now I remember your face. You didn't have the moustache then." Kim tried to smile through her tears. _The poor child_, he thought. No, not a child. A beautiful young woman, a wounded young woman in more ways than one. He had only meant to let go of her wrist and fetch the box of tissues but his hand took on a life of its own.

Gently he wiped the tears away with a light touch of his fingers. Kim looked at him in surprise, blue eyes meeting blue.


	6. Written in the Sand

**Part VI: Written in the Sand**

* * *

Kim reached for his hand and he pulled away. "It's all right," she said, voice steady, the tears dried.

Abdul Noble shook his head. "I shouldn't--" he whispered hoarsely. "I should leave now."

Kim raised herself on one elbow and painfully sat up, flashing a lopsided, woozy grin. "I won't stop you from leaving if you have your orders but thank you for patching me up. We'll meet again, we always do run into each other--" she stood up, "at the most inconvenient--" leaned into the strong slim arm supporting her good side, "--of times..." He was tall enough for her to look up into his eyes, or was it his boots? The general smelled of soap, the sun and the wind, of sweat, of the harsh detergent the army washed their uniforms in, of motor oil, of camels. There was a bottom note of something she could not identify. There were times she dropped the guise, snuck away when she was in another country and dressed as a girl, found somewhere there was dancing. She had even briefly dated a boy who knew her as Aisha, which didn't last due to occupation and her double-gendered life. Nothing much came of any of it, racing and keeping Kim Tarik alive were far more important.

Not important now. The first kiss was clumsy, for he did not expect it. This time she pushed aside the khaffiyah, revealing more of his face and their lips met without a nose, chin and moustache collision. Tongues searched, met, he tasted of the strong coffee they both customarily drank, the kind that Speed, Trixie and Sparky would likely spit out. His whipcord body generated warmth and she wished she could pull him closer but that damned wound stopped her as well as his own holding back. He kept his hands above her waist, only on her face, her good arm and shoulder, her hair. She wished he would kiss her neck and keep going but he stopped, took her hand, kissed it and pulled away, still holding her hand.

"If anyone had told me I would one day kiss Kim Jugger I would tell them they were out of their minds," laughed the general.

"I'd have told them the same thing as well! More?" Kim grinned, tugging his hand.

"No more for tonight."

"Aww..."

Abdul Noble raised a finger to her lips. "I need to meet the convoy to Flathill. I'm no longer needed here, Speed and Trixie will have your medicines and sling when they come back, which will be quite soon. I... where are you staying after tonight?"

"I hadn't thought of that. I came here to say goodbye to the Go Team and then make arrangements for leaving the country--until getting shot complicated things. There's the matter of my father's estate and I need a place to keep the plans for the Black Tiger. I'd like to help with rescue and salvage as well since I helped caused some of the destruction. You won't let me do damn-all with this arm but I can release some money. Don't wave me off like that, idiot! What equipment you have is shit. And... soon I want to come forward with the truth about myself. Yes, I know--it would end my career but I don't know if I can go on doing this much longer. Unless I leave the country and make a new start--"

"Kim, destroying bin Schemer's weapons cache was part of the plan, you were all informed of the risks and possible outcomes. And I can't let you leave the city with that shoulder, not now. I'll make arrangements for safe lodgings where you can recuperate and get your affairs in order. I know, you hate feeling locked up but it's only for a short time." Abdul Noble kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. Feeling that they were being watched, they looked to find Speed, Trixie Sparky, Spritle and Chim-Chim staring at them at them.

Ignoring the fact his and Kim's faces were quite red, the general asked for the sling, which Sparky produced. The Go Team couldn't help but look at each other and grin while the general/medic and the racer who turned out to be a high-ranking general's daughter instead of a son fussed with the adjustments of a sling. "Something happened while we were gone," Sparky whispered. Speed uh-huh'ed his agreement and Trixie hid her smile behind her hand while feigning a coughing fit.

"It sure did!" Spritle chirped.

The general turned to them and said, "I must go now." He began to mumble instructions about the sling and medication when accumulated lack of sleep slammed him and he veered towards a wall.

Speed caught his arm and said, "General, you're dead on your feet. Why don't you sleep here?"

"Really, it is not a good idea. I have to get back..."

"You're in no condition to drive!" Trixie hammered, switching off the air conditioner so violently that the knob snapped off in her hand. "How long have you been awake?"

"I never keep track, I don't need much sleep. Easy enough to nap and let my camel go along, my aide or one of the others awakens me, we rotate. Somebody has to make certain that... I have to inform..."

Speed shot down any more excuses while Sparky opened windows to let in the cooling night air. "There's several phones in the suite, as well as a radio in the Mach 5. You have your field phone and I bet you have a radio in your truck?"

The general sighed, beaten. He reached for his bag and raised the field hospital. A terse conversation in Arabic, then in English. "The tire picked up a nail along the road. I patched it myself but I'll have to wait until morning to see if it holds air," and a cryptic sign off of numbers.

"I'm a flat tire?" Kim stood in the doorway, fiddling with the sling, wondering why anyone bothered with it tonight when she would have to take it off before long when she went to bed.

"Sorry, I'm not the most creative but one never knows who may be picking up signals on the other end. Much as I hate to do this, I believe I'll have to impose." The general stopped Speed from calling room service yet again. "Don't bother. This lounge is more than comfortable."

"Sheets," Trixie muttered, startling the general, who thought she said "shit". They had more sheets, blankets, towels and pillows than they needed, one would think the Flathill government army was camping in the suite. She ducked into her room and came back with a bundle, ignoring protests that they weren't needed, just a blanket would do, thank you. Sparky found an unused rollaway in a closet and wheeled it into the front room. Kim came out balancing a stack of towels and washcloths on her good arm as the American contingent filed into Trixie's room.

"Take your tablets and get to bed, Kim," Abdul Noble ordered, picking up his kit. Kim turned and smiled over her shoulder at him from Trixie's doorway.

--

Sitting up in bed, Kim picked up the small package of crackers. "Ritz!" She tore the wrapper open a little too hard, nearly losing the contents.

"Pills, Kim," Trixie reminded. She sat on the rollaway, wrapped in a pastel blue yukata with a floral design over her pink pajamas. Kim admired it, finding it "soothing". Trixie wrapped her arms around her knees, wondering if Kim had anything besides men's clothes in her luggage and if maybe they could squeeze in a shopping trip, or if she could just whip out her tape measure and pick up a few things, bring them to the hotel room, and take back what didn't fit or what she didn't like. Though Kim was not exactly curvaceous, her dimensions above her waist would have been described some years earlier as "stacked". _Did she even have any bras in there? Oh. She's wounded, trying on clothes would be painful. Forgot_.

Kim sighed and scowled at the huge yellowish pill and the smaller white one. Sighing, she swallowed these with water and turned her attention to the crackers, which she demolished at a speed rivaling Spritle's own. Looking briefly disappointed that there weren't more, she flipped the wrapper into the wastebasket. As if she was Spritle's age, her mood picked up quickly. She happily cracked open the 7-Up and tossed the churchkey to Speed, who missed the catch. "Butterfingers," she ribbed.

"I would've caught that if you didn't throw like a girl, Kim!" Speed fired back, picking up the bottle opener from the carpet and setting it on the table next to his chair.

"She does throw like a girl but she disarmed the Schemer, Speed," Trixie pointed out.

"Son of the Schemer," Kim corrected. "_Ibn_ and _bin_ with a name means they're someone's son. His father's war name was the Schemer, though I'd prefer to think of my father's cousin as the son of something else. And I do _not_ throw like a girl. I was bowler on the cricket team when I still attended school and won every match I was in!"

"When did you stop going to school?" Speed wanted to know, ignoring the boast.

"When I was twelve. The city school only went up to a certain level, it was on some crazy system, half British, half American, maybe half Japanese, who knows."

"Three halves?" Sparky grinned.

"Your interruptions annoy me. Where was I? Oh. My school, it would probably be your equivalent of cutting off somewhere in junior high, maybe, I hear schools in the States vary depending on location and school district. Most students were sent to the French or British boarding schools in Sandoland or Egypt, or even to Europe. Mother and Khadija thought it best to hire a tutor to school me at home because, well, I was getting older and cutting my hair, wearing boys' clothes and pretending I was from a very modest family about the showers and toilets was not going to work much longer for I had to be extremely careful. Someone was going to figure that out eventually, what with my parents being public figures, they'd notice that by our manner of dress and other aspects and that might get pointed out. I tried to talk Mother and Khadija into sending me to a girls' school under a different name, that I wouldn't bring any friends I may make home, I wouldn't tell anyone I was a twin, but they wouldn't hear of it, they insisted that Father wanted me here, he couldn't bear to have me far away, did I want to break his heart by leaving? Khadija didn't even have to say anything about being 'sent away' again.

"Mother hired an American friend of hers from Mohammed Ali Street who had ended up singing Brecht and Weill musicals in the drink quarters in Sandoland. I think Vera was glad to get away from it herself even if it meant she had to drag out textbooks. How many times can anyone sing for a bunch of drunks in English with a fake drunken German accent without losing one's mind? Every time I hear Jim Morrison and his crew singing '_Oh moooooon of Al-a-bama/We allll must say goooodbyyyyye_' I have to laugh. It would drive her batty!

"Because at one time she had played male roles in the women-only clubs where laws forbid women socializing with men outside the home, I learned the art of binding from her. She didn't teach it to me directly-- I found a cheat sheet in one of her trunks, not knowing it would come in handy. When I started racing, I found out about these orthopedic type braces I could mail-order. Much more practical than Ace bandages or gaffer's tape.. ouch." Kim paused, wondering how Speed, Sparky and Trixie were handling this little slice. "As for walking, talking, sitting, I was a tomboy anyway, I had to be reminded to behave like a lady before I 'died' so it wasn't too hard.

"Vera had no clue I was a girl. She was there until I was fourteen. My father asked my mother one last time to marry him and she refused one last time. There was a loud argument about things I had no desire to overhear. My mother and Vera drove off in the night, I learned that both had been killed in a car wreck just outside the capitol."

"Oh Kim... I'm so sorry..." Trixie said, wondering how often she was going to say this.

"Don't be. She died long ago in spirit, her body was waiting to go. Vera should not have gone with her, I don't know why she did. Friends do that though. My father took me out of the house and set me up with my own room in his quarters and I knew then I had to be a man though it wasn't my actions that sent my mother away. There were soldiers there barely older than me, no fit place for a young lady. I think he planned to make a soldier out of me but he didn't, not quite. I had recently gotten my own driving license and, well, I was soon racing and retooling the trucks and Father's aide's Jaguar. I was brought to the attention of an operator of a professional driving school who owned a race team and Father let me go to the school. If my brother survived, I would've gladly disguised myself as a boy and joined his team. Women aren't allowed to race in our countries. In fact, women have only been allowed to drive in Flathill since 1950! There would've been two of us to contend with, could you imagine?"

"Oh no," groaned Speed. "That means I would've had two of you crashing into my car? I would've had to fight _two_ of you?"

"You didn't _have_ to fight Kim, you idiot," Sparky interjected.

"That's right, you didn't," Kim pointed out. "I was in a bad temper because I was late --the Mothers of Invention were in town last night-- and driving too fast to stop in time so I made a lot of lame excuses instead of apologizing. Neither of us had to fight. If you had to deal with Tarik and I, one of us would've held the other back. That's how we were, we were always mixing it up but one of us pulled the other back. I'm too quick to leap into a fight."

Speed bowed his head. "Another thing I need to remember. I learned better as well, to stay out of fights." Blue eyes met blue and he said to Kim, "I never would've fought you if I knew you were a girl."

Sparky cut in with, "What're ya gonna do, Speed? 'Excuse me, are you a cat or a chick?' before every brawl?" Sparky mimed a crotch grab in the air.

Speed grabbed his wrist. "Sparky!"

Trixie giggled behind her hand and Kim laughed. "Ah, but that's not always foolproof, Sparky."

Sparky gaped and frowned simultaneously with a "Huh??"

Instead of answering, she frowned, eased herself out of bed and wrapped herself in one of the blankets.

"Something wrong, Kim?" Trixie wanted to know.

"I don't know. I will be back." She eased her way out the door and closed it quietly behind her.

"Those pain pills must be strong. Trixie, maybe you'd better bring her back in," Speed asked, concerned.

"No... she only had one and she's not drugged up at all. I think she's gone to check on you-know-who." Trixie winked.

--

Abdul Noble was not yet asleep. He lay on the cot in the little alcove near the front door, cocooned in the blanket and sheets. His khaki shirt and blue-lined ivory khaffiyah hung neatly over a wooden chair, under which his boots were parked. While the castle that Prince Omar's staff had assigned him as his battalion's quarters was luxurious, it had been some time since he had been there, not since he had pulled Speed Racer's car from bin Schemer's quicksand trap. There were oxygen tanks in that car but they hadn't been turned on... why? Speed possibly was concentrating too hard on getting the car out to even think of it. The caterpillar treads were over the tires and the canopy was closed. Kim was found slumped against Speed. Speed had regained consciousness first and was soon able to ride seated on the aide-de-camp's camel but Kim lay limp in Noble's arms, wrapped in a blanket to guard against shock despite the heat.

Wrapped in a blanket much as she had been years ago when the general, as a young warrant officer in the government army, had brought who he thought was General Ali Gallant's small son home. He was a twin himself and he remembered restraining that small struggling bundle and tried not to think how it would be for him if something happened to his brother Yusef. Twins fraternal and identical were a common occurrence and a subject of study in the Flathills. Not all twins had that storied closeness but it was obvious that Ali bin Ali and Najila bint Jafaar's surviving child felt that half of her self was torn away.

He had lifted the goggles but did not remove Kim's helmet, loosen the tied khaffiyah or partially unzip the driving suit as would have been usual procedure with an unconscious patient who had not been injured in a crash. What had stopped him? He had no idea that he would've found anything other than a male form under there. Trixie mentioned a brace. He had no idea of what it looked like but knew now what its function was. Had he saw it then, or its outline under a T-shirt, he would not have disturbed it unless there was an injury making its removal necessary. It had taken some time for Kim to regain consciousness and a little more time to gain his bearings. _My face was probably the last one Kim wanted to see, thanks to Ali bin Schemer._ And having his feet kicked out from under him once he found out what had really happened, with Spritle dealing the hardest blow... if you want the truth, go to a child. Ali Gallant's family was not the most stable but he had no idea that Kim had been walking on a minefield for so many years.

He smiled to overhear Kim's interactions with the Americans. He had some idea that she'd gotten off on the wrong foot in the beginning but they had put that behind them. Too bad they had to leave soon. Those kids were a bit wearing but they never pretended to be something they were not and a little honest friendship was something Kim needed. Better friends than he could be for her, he would only break her heart.

How was it that when the truth was revealed, this hit him out of nowhere? Feelings like this he did not need. Not that she was too young, she was nineteen, most girls in Flathill Country were traditionally married for several years by that age though these days they preferred to wait, go on to higher education, even if they were promised in an arranged marriage. He couldn't lie to himself-- he had been attracted to the arrogant boy for about a year and written it off as an almost-feminine face confusing his hormones. Had Kim ever dated anyone, male or female? It couldn't've gone too far either way but it was apparent she had some experience somewhere. How and where? The thought of Kim uninjured, naked, twined around him like a snake aroused him just as her kisses had earlier. _Don't think of that, not with her. You'll only hurt her, hasn't she been damaged enough_? He'd only meant to comfort her but he'd crossed the line when he wiped away her tears and there was no going back... not that she wanted him to go back. He should have stopped it there. Stupid. It was back to work before long and he would forget about her.

No. He couldn't fool himself, he wouldn't forget about her. Right now he had a more pressing need, one of reaction and hormones rather than conflicting emotions. There were a number of methods to take care of it on one's own and he opted for one of the quickest and least enjoyable. He stood up, scooped a couple cubes of ice from one of the ice buckets and pressed them against the back of his neck, which worked damned near immediately. The melted ice dripped down his back and soaked into his T-shirt as he staggered into the bathroom. He dropped the half-melted chips into the sink, dried off as best as he could and returned to his bed. The aches from falling into bin Schemer's trench made themselves known again. Sleep. He pushed his thick, nearly black wavy hair off his forehead and pulled the covers around himself tightly, closing his eyes. Kim's voice, strange but sounding much more natural, more real than the clipped young-man voice of before, issued through the door. If he didn't know better, he'd swear it was the result of whiskey, cigarettes and nights out until dawn.

Had anyone recovered her father's body down that long-dry well? He dreaded when they did and called to tell him so. Gallant's-- or bin Schemer's-- surviving troops at the fortress were dismayed to find out that they had been led into this under false pretenses, once it sunk in. Abdul Noble saw faces he knew among the living, injured and dead. Getting his own men and the camels out of the trench was the easy part, the least injured of them climbed out with grappling hooks. Once they lowered one of the ramps, men and camels were helped, hauled or persuaded out of the pit. Some of the camels were so badly injured they had to be shot. Trucks were called in, hauling heavy equipment and other supplies. The Flathill government's youngest and lowest-ranking general rode, walked, and drove endlessly, among people who like himself went by disguising aliases. His clumsy war name, bestowed upon him by Prince Omar's father, made him feel like he fell out of a bad cartoon. He supervised, jumped down to assist, set up the temporary base hospital before the injured were transported to better equipped facilities. He offered what words of encouragement he could for rebel and government men alike. Morale was the greatest casualty. More rebel troops in the desert were brought in, not having heard what had happened, not believing what had happened, angry or numb when shown the evidence. He saw to it that these men were treated with kindness and respect. He counted it a success when he saw men in blue working side by side with men in white.

He was away from it, for now. He'd worked nearly non-stop, on next to no sleep, kindly thanking anyone who offered him words of encouragement but not allowing himself the few minutes "alone with their thoughts" some took. He wondered how long his tears had flowed and streamed into his hair. He folded his arms, turned face down and hid his face in the pillow. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He knew who it was without raising his head and wondered if she had stood in the shadows watching him.

Kim leaned her head on the general's arm, listening to his sobbing breaths. She wished she could pull him into her arms and hold him. Much as she thought he was a nosy bastard, there was a big part of him that was far too caring. He did not belong in this bloody business, nor did he have any business getting so close to her. _You're too good... save yourself and go on without me. Not that I want you to leave. Oh, very good of you, Kim, thinking of yourself yet again. Oh well..._ She stayed with him, letting him ride this out, wishing she had something wise or comforting to say. After a short time, he had calmed enough to raise his head and paw at his eyes. "Better now?" Kim whispered, untangling her fingers from the beaded cord holding his dog tags and the silver chain around his neck.

"For now. You should be in bed and so should the others, never mind the time zone."

"We're not the ones who were up all night in the worst of it, General--"

"--you may dispense with 'General' in private."

"Does that mean you'll tell me your real name? As if I don't know it already, Abdul-Karim bin Sharif."

"That's what the papers say but it is not. I will tell you and you will forget you heard it."

Kim listened, then frowned at the revelation. iRahim... Haddad?/i "You're Lebanese... and a Christian? Next you'll be telling me you're from Mars, Omar Sharif's your Irish uncle and Ali Staxx is your best friend."

"My father is Lebanese. My mother is from an old Flathill Muslim family. I was raised in both faiths, though I know that's frowned on by many. Omar Sharif and I might be distant cousins but I doubt that. Ali Staxx is my twin."

"What? Ali Staxx--but he's a fat smelly stupid old man with a beard!"

"The pictures are of someone else."

"So how do I know him if I see him? Don't tell me you two are identical."

"We are."

"So you really are a fat smelly stupid old man with a beard in disguise?"

Abdul Noble chuckled. "Maybe?"

"Ha ha. My head hurts. These names make me crazy. Good night." She turned off the light, pulled the covers over him and he did not protest that he could do this himself, thank you very much. One quick goodnight kiss and Kim floated away, cloaked in her blanket, disappearing into the darkness, illumined briefly by the low light in Trixie's room, and once again gone as the door closed. Wrung out, he burrowed in the covers, turned over and fell hard asleep.

Kim felt expectant stares of blue, green and brown boring into her. She stared hard back, a warning not to pry, as she peeled off the sling and settled herself in bed. Trixie opened her mouth and Kim stopped her with, "I'm taking medicines meant for Trixie Shimura, aren't I? That is, if that's your real name, not that it's any of my business. Another way of making certain we don't get traced in case any of bin Schemer's men are about. We'll be leaving, you'll be heading home and we'll be out of each other's hair."

"Ah, but we'll miss you, Kim," Sparky said. "What about the race team and school?"

"Oh, yeah. I did all right in the driving school but it annoyed me, having to learn all this by-the-book business when I'd taught myself out in the middle of the desert and had better control of the car than most of the instructors did. I bit the bullet and passed with flying colors. How'd you learn, Speed?"

"I taught myself, mainly, watching others, Pops taught me as well and I was in Fireball Rust's seminar. I don't know how I would've done in the driving school you mentioned. I didn't start driving as young as you did though, the laws are different in the States, they varied from fifteen to sixteen for permits and licenses."

"You trained with Fireball Rust? I would have lost my temper in five minutes!"

"I could just picture that!" Sparky said.

"Indeed. I didn't do so well with the team in Sandoland either. I'm not very good as a team player but I did have some decent standings despite my age. About two years ago, a builder in Cairo had a car and was looking for a driver. Several were brought to his attention and he chose me. The car wasn't finished and I was asked for my input for the final product. She became the Black Tiger. I had to keep up the disguise, for by now it was to my benefit rather than something I did out of fear, though fear stayed in the back of my mind even after Khadija was gone. I couldn't let people get too close in case they discovered me. Again, I didn't shower at the track, claiming religious reasons though I'm not exactly devout. The rest you know. I'm surprised we never ran into one another before now, Speed."

"Kim, you don't have to answer this but what became of Khadija?" Trixie asked.

"Shortly before I went away to driving school, she was getting a bit careless. With Mother and Vera gone and with me living in my father's quarters, most of the servants had left except for the lab workers. She had gone into her lab, alone, a little drunk on what was left of Vera's liquor. She'd not worn proper protective gear or used a snake noose and had taken an extremely dangerous tree viper from its tank. The snake bit her, then crawled inside her sleeve and stayed there. Ali bin Schemer had decided he wanted to go for a walk with me to ask me about this driving school and our path took us near the lab. He dragged Khadija out of the lab and he called out for antivenin. The workers pulled him away, warning him that the snake may still be on Khadija's person somewhere."

_"Let me go! She's my wife--"_

_"No, General, don't touch her! Who knows what's crawling on her!" Hakim, gloved and suited, injected the antivenin. Jalil noosed the snake and deposited it, snapping and writhing, into a canvas bag. They worked quickly, pumping out the venom from crosscuts on the fang sites, but the venom had spread too fast, too far. Kim stood well away, stunned silent, not knowing where to look. Ali bin Schemer stood up shakily, with a strangled choking sob. Kim slowly walked toward him and took his arm and was shaken away._

_"Were you in the lab? Did you open that snake's cage?" bin Schemer's streaming flat black eye glittered with grief and madness, the black monocle caught the sun, making Kim squint and look away._

_"Of course I wasn't!" Kim watched her voice, knowing this was one of the times that it would give her away. "I've only looked at it once ever, through the big window accompanied by staff! You know I don't like reptiles! You think I want to get bitten or stung?" She took her kinsman's arm and tried to ease him away. "Please, let's get away from here. They'll bring her out when they're through, they'll be done quickly. Come along...please?"_

_One of the lab workers found written in the sand tracked onto the lab floor: _Kim Tarik is dead-- _followed by an unintelligible scrawl. No one knew what to make of it. General Ali Gallant showed up and took his cousin away while the lab workers covered Khadija's body with a sheet and made certain the tanks and cages were properly secured, obscuring the cryptic message with their footprints._

"That's when bin Schemer really started to lose it. He did love her, hard as it may seem to think that he could be capable of love. He blamed Vera for bringing liquor on the premises-- as if she was the only one who did. Khadija knew what was in that bottle before she picked it up and poured herself one drink after another. I'm sure she had plenty of practice before she brought this down on herself.

"As for bin Schemer's involvement in anything to do with me, it was only in recent events. I think Khadija's work was separate and he may have had no knowledge of it. In fact, I doubt he had any idea I was Kim Badra and if he knew, he probably would not have cared. My father had always looked after his younger cousin for many years and thought it was his job to take care of him. Even more so now, of course, the poor man had lost his first wife and his children to an assassin and now his second wife to a freak accident, no wonder he was not right in his head! Did I mention Khadija the Viper was an expert marksman and a certain rifle was found among her effects? It was a match for the bullets taken from the bodies of Leyla and her children as well as the casings and shells found. Snap went Ali's mental state some more when he found out it was possible Khadija offed them all and my father became his keeper and fell into his trap. But the man was brilliant, he was an architect and engineer who made use of existing structures without wasting a thing. Yeah. He did so much... yeah. Wasting water with that quicksand and wasting manpower and material with that pit around the fortress. I'd cut off the water mains before Spritle and I infiltrated the fortress so the quicksand is just sand but had I known about the trench, I would've jammed its works."

"Kim, you did more than enough and we thank you," Speed said. He rose from his chair and strode to Kim's bed. He held out his hand to her and was caught in a one-armed hug, which he returned.

"Thanks for not killing me, Speed," Kim told him, kissing him on the cheek and letting him go. "Get over here, Sparky." He shuffled towards her and also got a hug and a kiss. "Sorry I didn't get to talk to you much, Sparky."

Sparky was surprised by the strength in Kim's embrace. "You've made up for it with saving Trixie, Kimba. Get well now, ya hear?"

Kim let go of him. "So I'm the white lion now?" She watched Trixie pop up and kiss Speed goodnight before the boys shuffled off to their respective beds.

Kim swallowed another one of the pain pills and reached to shut off the light. Trixie snuck over and hugged her, avoiding her bad arm. "What was that for?" Kim wondered. "You're not going anywhere yet."

"Just because," Trixie said, crawling into the rollaway and switching off the light. "Kim?"

"Hmmm?"

"How did you deal with your periods all this time?"

"Verrry carefully. A lot of hiding everything, burning the used stuff but when I was away from home it was easy enough to just use the garbage like anyone else, nobody was going to check. And I didn't wear yellow or white during those times." Kim shifted, trying to find a sleeping position that didn't aggravate her injury.

"You and the general...?"

"Errmm...that has _what_ to do what we were talking about?"

"I think it's sweet."

"Trixie! Don't go setting a wedding date! I don't even know how that happened or why. I'll probably come to my senses when he leaves. Speaking of males.. aren't I killing any extracurricular activities of yours?"

"Spritle and Chim-Chim managed that by stowing aboard the plane." Trixie giggled, then yawned.

"You and Speed will die virgins."

"What? Oh, good night!"

--

- End -


End file.
